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Anniversary

Old City Hall photo by Chandler O'Leary

My goodness, how time flies.

As of this moment, I’ve been a Tacoman for exactly two years. Twenty-four months. Seven hundred thirty days. Seventeen thousand five hundred twenty hours.

And counting.

I’m hoping for several million more, because I’ve loved every one—thanks to you T-town folks. Guys, you’re awesome. And generous, to boot—I think I had a stroke or something when I picked up my copy of this week’s Weekly Volcano and found my name printed next to “Best Visual Artist.” Holy moley. Thank you for the vote of confidence—you’re inspiring me to git to work!

Mt. Rainier photo by Chandler O'Leary

Speaking of work, which I’m not quite ready to show you yet, evidence of the past two years has been on the front burner lately. Since I first came up with the concept for my Mt. Rainier book, I’ve covered a lot of miles in our fair state. And above all else, what I love about the Pacific Northwest are the contrasts. From oceans to mountains, rain forests to deserts, farm fields to bustling cities—it’s hard sometimes to remember that all of this is close to home.

So before I get back to a little picture-drawin’ next week, I’ve compiled a smattering of photos taken since my last anniversary post to illustrate what I’m talking about.

Washington wind farm photo by Chandler O'LearyWashington wheat photo by Chandler O'LearyHurricane Ridge photo by Chandler O'LearyDungeness Spit photo by Chandler O'LearyPort Townsend photo by Chandler O'LearySpace Needle photo by Chandler O'LearyHoh Rainforest photo by Chandler O'LearyYakima Canyon photo by Chandler O'LearyVashon Island ferry photo by Chandler O'LearyBainbridge Island ferry photo by Chandler O'Leary

In two years I’ve amassed nearly thirty thousand digital photos of the Northwest—and that’s just of the relatively small hunk of territory I’ve managed to cover in that time.

Here’s to the next thirty thousand photos, and the next seventeen thousand five hundred twenty hours—I wonder what they’ll bring.

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Vampire vacation

Lake Crescent photo by Chandler O'Leary

Since I’ll be a hermit for most of the rest of the year while I finish my Rainier book, I tried to sneak a little stolen summer vacation time into June. If I was going to lock myself indoors during our sunniest season, I wanted as many mountains, oceans, flowers and skies as I could cram into a week first.

For the first few days we had a couple of friends staying with us. Since one of them was visiting from Colorado, and wanted a change from the hot, dusty summer back home, we took a day trip to the Olympic Peninsula for a good dose of lush greenery.

Lake Crescent photo by Chandler O'Leary

The West Coast highway, U.S. Route 101, ends with a 300-mile, two-lane meandering loop around the Peninsula. It’s the only thoroughfare on the entire Peninsula, and a treacherous road, full of hairpin curves, patches of fog, logging trucks and landslide-prone slopes—but the scenic beauty makes the drive a spectacular adventure.

We took the northernmost leg of the road that day. Just west of Port Angeles it winds through a tunnel of trees as it hugs the shore of Lake Crescent, where we stopped for a picnic lunch beside the impossibly blue water.

Lake Crescent photo by Chandler O'Leary

We were tempted to spend the whole day at the lake, but a bigger surprise lay down the road: the Hoh Rain Forest, one of the largest of America’s rare temperate rain forests. I’d also bet it’s the most beautiful—if it weren’t a four-hour drive away, I’d go every day.

Hoh Rain Forest photo by Chandler O'Leary

I had only ever seen the place in a downpour (big surprise—they get up to fourteen feet of rain and over 300 cloudy days a year), but as soon as we arrived that day … the sun came out.

Hoh Rain Forest photo by Chandler O'Leary

I almost didn’t recognize the place.

Hoh Rain Forest photo by Chandler O'Leary

The last time I was there, droplets hung from every surface and everything shimmered with a gossamer silver glow.

Hoh Rain Forest photo by Chandler O'Leary

This time, the glow turned to spun gold and bottle green.

Hoh Rain Forest photo by Chandler O'Leary

As always, though, every branch was festooned with cat-tail moss, and sword ferns carpeted the forest floor.

Hoh Rain Forest photo by Chandler O'Leary

And the clover leaves were the biggest I’ve ever seen.

Hoh Rain Forest photo by Chandler O'Leary

So were the trees.

Ruby Beach photo by Chandler O'Leary

The best part about our road trip was the fact that it was nearly Midsummer; we still had hours of sunshine left to us. Next on the itinerary: Ruby Beach. It was a short hike down to the water, past Queen Anne’s lace and just-ripening salmonberries, with the roar of the Pacific ringing in our ears.

Ruby Beach sketch by Chandler O'Leary

That bizarre stamp is still the only banana slug I’ve ever seen, alas. The search continues!

I sat down to do a watercolor,

Ruby Beach photo by Chandler O'Leary

while Ethan moved along the shore to explore the sea stacks,

Ruby Beach photo by Chandler O'Leary

and Nicole stopped to take in the view.

Ruby Beach photo by Chandler O'Leary

We made a quick contribution to the collection of obos on a nearby driftwood log, and set off for home.

Forks, WA photo by Chandler O'Leary

Yes. Twilight firewood. For setting those vampire books on fire, I think.

On the way back we stopped for a little absurdity. Route 101 passes through Forks, home of a certain infamous vampire series; we couldn’t resist stopping to take photos of the hilarious roadside tie-ins that had popped up since the last time I passed through.  I’d never read the books, but when Nicole told me that these vampires only eschew sunlight because it makes them sparkle … well. My morbid curiosity got the better of me, and before I could stop myself, I read the whole blasted page-turning accident scene of a series the following week. Ugh.

And, uh, yeah. They sparkle. And whine and brood and mope. Curiosity satisfied.

I digress. Sorry.

By that point we were starving—but not in the mood for Twi-dogs or whatever punny food might be expected in a place with a name like Forks. So I suggested we hang on a little longer and head to Port Townsend, where I knew of a fantastic seafood restaurant.

Clam chowder photo by Chandler O'Leary

An hour later, we had traded Forks for spoons, and were digging into our bowls of the tastiest, freshest, localest carn-starn Manila clam chowder on the West Coast. And changing my definition of road food in the process.

Oh, who am I kidding? You know that whole trip was for the chowder, right?